Dead Honor
by teamkitty
Summary: A man goes back to his old home town to see it much more disgusting than before - especially since his brother has died - mystery to the death of his brother.


Calling my muse...  
  
It starts as a verse in my mind - a refrain redundant until it reaches the page. I look at it as a mantra for my self at that time. Then it should develop, but it doesn't, because I force it out, and you know something should never be forced like that. And so I sit for a while and look at myself - perceiving what my window does not blur. A chair upside down, the table seemingly firm, the stacks of books standing at military attention, and my fingers tapping out exactly what my mind's voice utters. A bowl of soup beside me and the taste of New England in chowder form slides down the back of my throat. Chunks of starchy potato - (Idaho)? Yes I am da ho. Pieces that should resemble clams squish between my molars. What's that gritty bit? And Neil Tennent sings to me from the soul that he is. So continues my hands as I begin to creep towards the story - for this is the genesis of the story that has been torturing my soul for so long - so very long - so it begins here and the pieces of my genius through my life will speak through the blocks of rambling. First the verse, then the realization that the verse begins where the word left off, but it begins so for all individuals. And do I feel I have come to the train station where I board my train? And indeed I have only boarded, but one train in my life so what would I know, so I mustn't use this analogy - this train journey to death as the Japanese symbolize. Second the facts, the details of this boy's life - yes details we want details and so you shall have them. Melt with me into the gelatin not so congealed yet. Then believe the false images behind my eyes. Third and the truth be said - my unconsciousness that I have hidden and that my guides have revealed. My habits, my damn it's, and my gotta have it's. Fourth, the last, here it comes - the inner explosion that fizzles to nothingness - belittled do I feel and arisen again by my "gotta have it" affirmations.  
  
Surprise me by trying to understand that which has already been understood and already stated - twisted by my own mixer. Scratch that DJ.  
  
Chapter 1  
  
Charming his way through the crowd my friend comes toward me. Black rimmed glasses, champagne glass, a hand full of class, and never crass, he sits down beside me. I am nervous and do not know how to tell him. Why was I to be the bearer of grief? Why could I not be the friend who just visits to visit?  
  
"Why don't you grab a drink for yourself and we'll have a chat?" He seemed to anticipate the moment that was yet to occur. I cracked a glance and nodded. I moved up away from the table and shuffled through the crowd to the bar. My tear grinned in my eyes ready to discharge, but my heart pained to beat confidently. After getting something the bartender attested was sweet and not too alcoholic I sat down and shifted the glass in front of me for a few seconds before I looked up at him. In the mean time he had already started the conversation. "So what brings you up here?" He eyed my glass in a quixotic fashion. "Um. What makes you think I had some specific purpose? Don't you think I can come up to see my friend out of a need to see a friendly face?" The taste of the drink was quite airy and sweet. "You realize how ridiculous all that sounded right? Especially coming from you! You can't lie if your life depended upon it." He pulled out a pack of cigarettes and when did he start that habit? "Take a few more sips first. It seems that you know me better than myself." I reached for the inside pocket of my jacket and offered to light his cigarette. "Since when did you start smoking? I thought you had asthma and hated smoke?" He planted the tip of his cigarette in the middle of the flame. "I don't smoke, I carry a lighter to look cool, besides you never know when you, uh, need to light up something. It also works as an icebreaker for me." I never sounded so uncool. "Whatever you say. You worry me, what do you want, for me to be so pissed that you can safely tell me some horrid news?" His laugh was so unfortunately ironic. "Your brother was killed yesterday." I did not think I would just blurt it out in that manner. I had planned a long speech about the importance of family and the greatness of friends on my three-hour drive up here. "What the fuck did you say?" He deeply inhaled his cigarette. "It was murder. They are still looking for clues. I am surprised you didn't hear it on the news. It was racially motivated the police say." I recalled the yellow tape around his brother's apartment. He takes a sip from his glass and clutches it firmly causing a crack, and then the glass shatters forcing the blood that was growing angry in his heart to pool around his drink's coaster. "Why the fuck do you bring me shit like this? I don't ... damn it!" He jerks forward - palms on the table - stands up. He walks over to the exit and bangs the door on his way out. I quickly pay the tab and run haphazardly out of the bar. "Wait! Wait!" I shout after him through a homogenous flow of strangers. Heading towards the alley between the coffee shop and the strip joint I ran to catch him. He wasn't reacting the way I thought he would have. I never thought he was that close to his brother. In a flash he was kicking around empty boxes by a dumpster, punching the facade of the "Flesh in Pants". I wanted to get to him before anyone would hurt him. "Stop for Christ sake. You have to come back home to verify things. There is way too much to do. Get yourself together." "Don't give me any stupid advice. I am okay. Just give me a breather. Just go the fuck home. I'll be down in a few hours. Go. Don't just stand there. There's nothing you can do." "I should stay with you. You probably aren't thinking in the right frame of mind." "Excuse me, but who is the one with the higher degrees? Just go the fuck home. I'm okay. I'll meet you there to deal with the mess. Just relax. I just have to vent my anger in a different way than you." I knew I couldn't do anything so I left him. I was fed up with having to deal with his issues. I did not have any more strength to spend nights with him and his problems. It's difficult to understand my perspective isn't it? I was his first. I was always there for him in the beginning. Then I wasn't there for him. That's how he will always tell the story. Chapter 2 I was stomping to my car when I realized that I was never quite close to him. I was never close enough to understand him, yet he always professed to understand me. Was there something wrong with me? I could never understand myself. I could never understand what many of my friends saw so easily. Was I purposely blind to myself? Questions upon questions nagged at me - exploding as if an epiphany had overcome me, when nothing of the sort ever happened to me. But why did he have to bring that news to me? Why did he have to supply the details? I could not see him as being anything but a friend, yet I do not know why. Maybe we have been side by side for so long that we can be nothing else but friends (lovers was never a word we called what we had). I got in the car and drove as fast as I could home. I didn't even stop to notice the dirty woman with a broken perambulator on the corner of my street asking for change. She might not have been there today. After going inside I wandered aimlessly looking for a bag - I stuffed the contents of my "emergency" drawer into my bag and I looked at myself in the mirror before going into the bathroom. Had to use the facilities and that was always fun. Yeah, STD piss here I come. I know I made the mistake, but why the fuck did God have to do that to me? [fix this - doesn't sound right] I dug out the memories of my brother as I finished packing and got out of the house. I had forgotten him, but when the news had finally beat my eardrums it was a shock to my system. Nothing suddenly filled to a large amount of something. I quickly looked at my watch - 2:30 PM. That would suffice, getting down there by dinnertime. I wasn't feeling the craving for lunch, but dinner back in my old spot; "Dilly's" would be cool. I think too much when I drive for I always sublet my mind to ideas not worth housing. What should I say about those thoughts? Should you follow play the voyeur of my mind? I guess you want to, otherwise you wouldn't be reading so closely. Once upon a time I was a little boy and then...I changed.I rebelled against my sex. I did not like what I was; I no longer wished to be a boy. My conscience thought that I should have been something else, never to associate with the sex that manipulates and lies and touches you, leaving a scar of everlasting proportions. And so it was as youthful children play in playgrounds, I hoped to associate myself with the other sex, wanting to know how to make the girls my friends, for I knew that they would never betray my honesty like boys. My brother reminded me of what a boy was. One of these girls from my pre-sexual stage would be the first one to kiss me. She would also be the first one I would hurt. We were together for a few weeks that seemed like a month, in May of my fifth grade year. And on the day when I told her that we would be together until junior high, I really meant to, I must have known I would change my mind in the next few days. My awkwardness towards puberty, began at the age of eight when I was discovering that my sexuality had sprung a leak - ending in a panic that didn't subside for a few minutes. I was intrigued with the novelty of staring when I was not supposed to, defined as voyeurism as I found out in college (a little late, no?). Twice in elementary school during the days of physical education, I stared at a friend who from such a distance unknowingly exposed her miniature breasts to me. Yet, laughingly I can still with a sincere voice say I get upset when I see men looking intensely at women as little boys the hot wheels on the shelf of Toys R Us. What might the definition of hypocrite be now? [this paragraph needs work] Then I arrived - great city of my childhood. Facing the people who antagonized me. I wanted to step out and say to my city, "Fuck you, get a life!" But I couldn't. I stepped out of my car and walked into "Dilly's" not able to recognize any face in the crowd. I took in the scent of the fried bacon drippings sizzling mixed with the scrambled eggs swimming in the wave of coffee. Decaffeinated to be exact. Suddenly a tap on my shoulder brought me back ten years. "What the fuck are you doing back in town? We don't want you. You know you need to get a life and quit your fag life!" Prematurely aged Brenda fucked with your mind and your balls and then strapped them to her car and towed you for years, never letting go of how you treated her on one date thirteen years ago when you would not dish out a full course meal. "Welcoming me back are you, Brenda?" I continued to the counter and grabbed a seat. "You want my money for your greasy lard ass food or you want my money to go elsewhere?" "Sit down, order, eat, and then leave." She walked over to the kitchen to talk to some of her other waitresses. She had dreams, if you could call them that. Then her father left, leaving her as the oldest to support her other brothers and sisters. She looked as if she hadn't stepped out of Dilly's since I left ten years ago. Grease, time, apathy, and children had cracked her spirit. * * * Such a wonderful layer of buttered bread and stacked flapjacks had not graced my eyes in such a long time. The lure of the homemade gravy on my sausages defibrillated my heart. "Get the fuck out now. You been swirling your sausage in the fucking gravy for the last five minutes - eat or get out." "Savoring the moment and enjoying ever bit of life is what I have learned in my years away from this town. I will finish shortly, pay you and hope you live a better life than this, but until I leave I am going to tell you fuck off and get a life. You have way more customers than this one old lost flame you still desire." I quickly gobbled up the last bits of sausage and dropped a fifty on the table and walked out. * * * I got to the house and met him there. The place had changed a little, if you knew what to look for. He was all smiles to see me back in the city. I wasn't ready to make such a commitment yet. Chapter 3 Brenda peered through the kitchen door as Daniel walked out the restaurant. She felt frustrated with his return, like a habit that antagonizes an addict who's out of money, things to sell, and time to spare. It wasn't just one date thirteen years ago, she thought. He left her heart open without his suture like her customers who leave bad tips. She devoted her time to him; she even sacrificed her chastity, her reputation. But what did she know about love, every guy who walked her way had only abused her. Daniel's words were always, "you are going to get hurt if you don't get help, and I am not the one to help you." But he did help, she felt so comforted around him and felt so secure, he wasn't like the rest, and then she found out why after he had left. She was Daniel's second, and James was Daniel's first. The day lacked importance after he left. Brenda sat stoic for most of the evening. Closing time came to pass and she closed up at nine o'clock. The last customer was her regular, Mr. Brummel who escorted her out to her car, her apartment complex, up the stairs to her apartment, and into her bedroom. The tears on her face trail all the way from the shower to her pillow. She sobs quietly in the room, waiting for him to leave. "See ya tomorrow." Mr. Brummel peered through her heart.  
  
He walked out carelessly fumbling with his keys in the lock of his car door. He shifted from leg to leg nervously looking down at his pants - adjusting his belt and shirt. The car was a ragged 1974 Chevy Nova. A Chevy of large proportions. He didn't think much about her. He didn't even know her. But he knew about her body - he had been understanding her body for the last two years. [religion for him is sex, because he can't understand spirituality any other way.] She responded quite negatively to his advances today - the usual peck on the nape of her neck did not even elicit its catcall from her, what was wrong with her? He locked his car door and drove back to his shack his real estate agent had called a charming little bungalow. The one street light at the end of the street guided his way to the house at the end of the block with the recently crossed out graffiti, great...all he needed to complete his day. [describe his encounter and another later] Chapter 4 He was there pacing back and forth at the front door - his car was already parked in the carport, still running. I slowed down as I approached the house. The CD player in the car was making the speakers say things about lost love and dejected lovers as he walked towards the passenger side of my car. "Daniel, I'm glad you could come here." "I wasn't going to. I was still pissed off when you left. You should have called or emailed me the news. This straightforward thing is new to me. You don't go to someone and under the pretense of a happy visit and shove shit like that in his face. You just do not." I didn't want to admit it, but this break from my routine was a welcome opportunity. "Stop the car and get out. You can park anywhere. Just come on out and we'll talk a little. Come on, don't act like this - your brother died. You must have some compassionate feelings." He walked to the front door and flipped his little index finger in a desiring gesture. "I'm coming." I didn't want to go into the memory whirlpool that was my childhood home. [passive encounter] Chapter 5 I didn't think she would come looking for me. Not after midnight anyway. But there she was, a lab animal pounding in an incessant rage. Peering with my good eye I spied a disfigured woman lashing out as she was shuffling and sliding around. "Fucking ... basturd! Open dur freaking door, ya cock slucker! Get some used sugah, right here!" "Brenda, go away. Go home. You're too drunk and making such a fool of yourself." I was more afraid I was going to get kicked out of my hotel room if she continued causing problems. "I give my love to you and...and tish is how ya treat me? Fuck me in the ass while I'm turned around..."She was too wasted and I had to do something so I opened the door and pulled her in, catching a glimpse of a crowd of about six people glaring at me. "Get in here. You're drunk and tipsy. Don't fuck up my life when you're drunk. In fact, don't try to screw with me when you're sober. Sit down and wait for me to get a bucket of cold water." I was no more upset than when one is bitten in his privates by both stinging ants and jellyfish. "I...luv ya darling. You cunt leave me huh? You know that ... when you ...you walked away...you didn't want me? I wanted to make it work, but you were...you went somewhere didn't you? Where did you goto?" Tears built up behind the ranting in her voice. " Just wait." I began making coffee from the free complimentary pack. She was so intriguing as she was when I was with her in high school. That dangerous callousness, hypersensitive bitchiness, and insatiable hatred for herself consumed me as it did then. I took in her view, carefully gazing at her. I was most displeased at her sight, a sight more horrid as I remembered I had considered a love interest at one point in my life. Chapter 6 When I am promised something I feel an obligation to desire it, but why had he promised to spend sometime with me and not deliver? Six passed quickly, then seven, then I was eating a steam less dinner at eight, then I washing the dishes by myself, and finally the credits of the last edition of the news flashed on the television screen. I gathered up a few balls of tissue and a box of old Valentine's candies and a container of a quart of chocolate ice cream and dumped them in the trash, as I was cleaning up. I changed into nothing and ignored the food stuck between my teeth as I turned out the lights and locked all my doors. The chill of my newly washed sheets fought my mind to recall similar nights I spent terrified by the vocal battles between the other two people in the house who were falsely related.  
  
"What the hell with you staying out all hours? It's been two days since you've been home!" "I'm sorry we were married, I'm sorry you fell for me, I'm sorry we had that kid. You happy with my apologies?" My mother broke another vase and cried a hundred more tears and my father broke another hinge off their bedroom door. I would scream at the top of my lungs and bang on the walls after which my father came in and would comfort me, and then my mother would come in and bang on me. How was the next morning? Unexplained tears accompanied me to class the next morning to which I kept shut in when my teacher asked me what had happened in the previous night.  
  
I felt the pee wanting to be relieved. I woke up from a dream where I was throwing shit across the room and I was thrashing in my dream running away from other guys staring at me in a public restroom. I shuffled to my bathroom to release my energies, crossing the path of the rays of sun shining through my blinds. Piss fuck. Yeah, that's the daily discharge I get for a stupid one- night stand in an alley at 21. Happy birthday to me. I know my mirror has it in for me. It reflects too much, in truth, the scars from my youth, my vanity that constantly grows with age, and my own hatred that all comes out. Just as I was getting ready to sit down for a good read the phone summons me. I rushed to grab it - yes I was hoping it would be him. "Hey, there." "James, I'm sorry to wake you, but there's a situation." Bother? The clock was flashing six thirty. "Situation?" was I panicking? Yes. "What situation?" "She's here." His voice cut abruptly as the noises of a woman's call interrupted, what a repulsive noise that is." "Fuck you, get a life!" I did not know what to do, but hang up the phone. But as enraged as I was, you must realize that I did not want anything else, except to be with him. I needed to be with him. I needed him! Oh, how I needed him. Yes, I wanted to be with him. I wiped my tears on my grimy, unwashed hands and went back into the bathroom to finish my thoughts and then I stayed in the hot shower until the cold water began visibly rippling off my raisin toes down the cluttered drain cover. I wiped down quickly and shuffled on layers of clothing, and grabbed a fruit snack before locking up and running down to the carport of my apartment.  
  
Chapter 7 In the early morning drops of sunshine, Brenda awoke in horror as her half naked body lay motionless on a foreign bed. Her rising head caught sight of an arm chair with clothes strewn across it, a woman's dress, a woman's purse, a woman's bra - her dress, her purse, her... She got up and then laid back down as soon as she saw him half snoring in the bathroom, awkwardly contorted on the floor with a sheet over him. "Don't worry we didn't do anything." His voice startled her; she forgot how acute his hearing was. "Umm...What did I say or do last night?" "Brenda, you're so screwed. You'll get drunk, fuck up, apologize, and feel sorry for yourself. You haven't changed." "You know me so well. You wanted to though didn't you?" She was insinuating what he already knew was on her mind. "As a male, I guess, but you make me feel for you the pity deserving for some miscreant off the street. "Do you realize how uncomfortable a bathroom floor is? It's almost Buddha like." "Daniel, you say everything is Buddha like." "But isn't everything?" * * * The pounding came suddenly. Brenda had just made a pot of coffee. The one from the night before tasted sour. Daniel quickly darted to the bathroom to get dressed. "Yeah, I'm here Daniel. Open the door." James' voice was nearly inaudible.  
  
Brenda decided against her own best interest and opened the door. "Where is he?" He was as abrupt as a military interrogator. "Getting dressed, cleaning up, you know." Her smeared mascara and nakedness added to James' anger and confusion, all which made her smile. 


End file.
